


(Not) My Type

by icountcards



Series: Bad Ideas [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, literally just a cute follow-up to wine + salt + water, this is its own fic because i don't wanna mess with the tags on the original
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icountcards/pseuds/icountcards
Summary: He’s not even your type,Desi tells herself, and he’s not, too all-American pretty boy in looks and too awkward to make a move even though he clearly wants to. Too much of an idealist. A little too trusting, too willing to see the good in people whether they deserve it or not. Not her type.Sequel to Wine + Salt + Water, because I kept coming back to this idea.





	(Not) My Type

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first 3/4 of this at 3 am and the rest of it with a vicious headache, so, uh, sorry for anything I may have screwed up? 
> 
> You don't absolutely need to have read Wine + Salt + Water to read this, but it'll make more sense if you have.

Desi’s heart spikes to triple-time when she wakes up, not alone, in a bed that’s not hers, and she’s half a second away from flinging her bedmate away from her when she remembers where she is, that it’s just Mac in bed with her, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate being thrown onto the floor. The panicked tension bleeds out of her, heart rate starting the journey back to normal.

He’s still asleep with his back to her, her momentary panic not enough to disturb him. She’s got one arm curled around him to rest a hand on his ribs and a faceful of blond hair that smells like the same shampoo she’d used, sharp and herbal, and it’s maybe a little weird how not-weird it is to be curled up around him, warm and solid and comfortable. Like she could get used to waking up like this.

 _He’s not even your type,_ Desi tells herself, and he’s not, too all-American pretty boy in looks and too awkward to make a move even though he clearly wants to. Too much of an idealist. A little too trusting, too willing to see the good in people whether they deserve it or not. Not her type. (Not that she’s doing a very good job of listening to herself on that one, she reflects as she runs through the list in her head one more time.) 

Mac shifts, and she half expects him to move away, put some distance between the two of them as he wakes, but he only moves just far enough to roll over onto his back, propped up on one elbow to face her. “Morning,” he says, blinking up at her, voice sleep-rough, and a hundred iterations of _not my type_ aren’t enough to stop the way her stomach flips at the soft, contented smile he gives her.

“Morning,” she echoes, a smile flitting across her face. “Sleep well?” 

He ducks his head to hide a blush, hair falling across his face. Desi kind of wants to reach out and brush it back. “I did,” he says, tripping over the words a little, and it’s sort of adorable, how ridiculously easy it is to fluster him. “You?”

“Yeah,” she says. Better to skip the part where she almost flung him out of bed when she woke up. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Anytime,” he says, and she doesn’t miss the hopeful note in the word. He looks soft like this, hair mussed and eyes sleepy as he watches her. He looks like she could break him. He looks like he trusts her not to. 

Letting herself get attached to Mac isn’t the dumbest thing she’s ever done, but it’s definitely up there, probably top five at best. Reasons not to get attached to anyone aside—and there’s plenty of those—there’s about a hundred reasons falling for the boss’s kid is a dumb idea. (She would know; once upon a time she’d actually been young and dumb enough to sleep with her CO’s daughter, as much for the thrill as for the woman herself, and she still counts it as a minor miracle that she wasn’t found out and discharged for it.) Even without the shadow of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell hanging over her head, it doesn’t strike her as the kind of thing that would go over terribly well with her new boss.

But Mac’s still giving her that soft look, the same one he’d had last night when she walked into his kitchen wearing his clothes. Like there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her, and, well.

No one’s ever accused Desi of having common sense.

 _Anytime._ “I might take you up on that,” she says, mouth curving up into a smirk as Mac looks down to track the movement of her lips before pulling his gaze back up to meet hers. “If you want.” There’s a half-second of silence with an undercurrent of tension as he processes the unspoken question that she’s really asking, before he nods, just the tiniest movement, like maybe she’s rendered him speechless, and she leans over to close the distance between them and presses their lips together, soft and careful, one hand finding its way into his hair. 

He doesn’t react, and Desi draws back after a second, heart thumping uncomfortably against her ribcage at the thought that maybe she’s misjudged. But Mac’s just staring at her with a look that’s nothing short of awestruck, eyes wide and mouth slack. “I’m dreaming, right?” he says after a long moment, brow furrowing. “This is a dream.”

Rather than answer, Desi reaches out with the hand that’s not still tangled in Mac’s hair and pinches him in the side.

“Ow!” He flinches away from her, even as his eyes crinkle with amusement. “What happened to ‘I don’t bite’?”

She grins, too widely to be anything but predatory. “I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” She traces the tip of her tongue over her teeth for emphasis. 

Mac makes an incoherent sound in the back of his throat and surges upward, closing the distance between them and sealing their lips together, an almost desperate sort of urgency in the way he kisses, like he’s afraid she’ll change her mind if he gives her even a second to think about it.

She’s nothing if not all-in on her bad decisions, and she matches his insistence, kisses like it’s a competition, as she tangles her hand more securely in his hair and tugs, just this side of too hard, reveling in the way his breath hitches at the sensation, his mouth falling open around a wordless gasp. She presses forward, messy, all teeth and tongue and molten heat, fire curling in her chest as he brings one hand up to skim down her side, hesitant and completely at odds with the almost frantic press of their mouths. She pulls away for a second, grinning breathlessly down at him. He’s beautiful like this, face flushed and eyes wide, staring up at her like she hung the moon. “Beautiful,” she says softly, because it seems selfish not to share that thought. 

He blushes even harder at that, turns pink all the way down to the collar of his t-shirt. Desi’s struck by the urge to get him out of the shirt, see how far that pretty blush goes. She flicks her gaze back up to meet his eyes, wide and china-blue, and he gives her a slow, pleased smile, like he can tell what she’s thinking. 

Of course, it’s right then that Desi’s stomach growls, loudly enough for both of them to hear, shattering the moment and startling a laugh out of her as she collapses to bury her face in Mac’s shoulder. 

He looks down at her, eyebrows raised as his mouth curls up into an amused smile. “Breakfast?” he offers.

“Breakfast,” she agrees, voice muffled by the way she’s still facedown against him. She pushes herself up, leans over to catch Mac’s lips with hers for one soft, chaste kiss before rolling over and swinging to her feet with a sigh. “I’ll buy breakfast,” she says, turning to face Mac. “I owe you one for letting me stay.”

He just gives her a soft grin, running a hand through his hair and somehow leaving it even messier than it had been. “I think we’re even.”


End file.
